Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

Tonight you’re mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow
Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment’s pleasure
Can i believe the magic of your sighs
Will you still love me tomorrow
Tonight with words unspoken
You say that i’m the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun
I’d like to know that your love
Is love that I, I can be sure of
So tell me now and I will not ask you again
Will you still love me tomorrow
Will you still love me tomorrow
Will you still love me tomorrow
– Nylons
Ah, the week before the All-Star Break was a great one. Johnny Damon had decided to give all of us a taste of what Kansas City fans had experienced before Billy Beane cast his eye on the speedster and changed his hitting approach dramatically. See more pitches. See more pitches. Damon pledged this spring training to try to revert to his old approach, and it seems as if he is starting to do so.
Kevin Millar was coming around, too. Knocking in those base hits like a demon possessed. Before that week, Millar had been another John Olerud, but with a worse glove. Pedro, Curt, Tim, and Bronson were pitching their hearts out. Derek Lowe was … well, Derek Lowe.
But just one measly week before that heavenly week, everyone was in a deep funk. Swept by the Yankees, getting our brains beat repeatedly, repeatedly, repeatedly. So last week was a nice breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, it is not a long, drawn-out breath of fresh air, it was just a breath.
Maybe I’m overreacting here, but I think last night’s loss was the lowest of them all. Coming off a solid week, and we open up in Anaheim. A nice way to start the break would have been to hit and pitch well. Kick our road woes to the curb and introduce to the world, “we are gellin’ like a felon!” Alas, Derek Lowe is up to his normal hijinks – Cy Young material until a specific inning (first, second, third, fourth, fifth) then he converts into Cy Yuk. Alan Embree comes in to relieve, but Francona neglects to remember that you don’t pour gasoline on a fire. Embree’s really fallen off the cliff this year. He’s not a set-up lefty anymore. He’s just not.
Leskanic comes in and save for a nice little two-run poke in the stands, he gets out of the inning. Jimmy Anderson and Ramiro Mendoza combine for two scoreless innings on 18 pitches. (What is this? The Twilight Zone? Jimmy Anderson and Ramiro Mendoza? Scoreless innings? Nine pitches an inning?)
Our offense is as stagnant as ever, and our front office is maddengly STUPID. Don’t be fooled, ladies and gentlemen, it was not Terry’s decision to start Lowe in the first game. Ohhhhh no. Nope. Fugedaboutit. Terry manages IN-game. But Theo and Co. take care of every little detail possible. The order for Lowe to go came from the higher-ups. Terry just won’t admit it. In the off-season, it was made obvious the manager to be hired would be the one most likely to do the bidding. No, I put this squarely on Theo’s shoulders.
I’ve gone from loving this team to absolutely fustrated with this team. Couple that with such an enraging hatred for the Yankees, I can’t see straight. I hate the Yankees because they win. It’s that simple, folks. How do they do it?
– Shaky rotation
– Bullpen didn’t look too good on paper
– Age
– Drama
And where are they? On pace for 105 wins (most in baseball), that’s where! No matter the questions, the issues, the players, they win. At what point does this segue from reality into the supernatural? Is there a force guiding the Yankees or what?
(And don’t pull that Curse of the Babe crap, it’s not true. Babe wanted out, and we needed the money from Babe. No, not for ‘No, No, Nanette’… but so the Red Sox could have enough money to remain as a team. To read more, go here.)
I generally regard myself as an optimist, so it’s a little strange to see myself writing these words, but when push comes to shove, you go over the ledge. And I’m over the ledge, but I still have a shred of optimism, so let’s delve into optimism.
Despite being the heavy favorite to win the World Series since I was in diapers, the Yankees have neglected to do so for three years straight. It could quite concievably happen again this year. I also find it strange I am writing words of despair when I have told myself and others that I concede the division title – the Yankees are built for the regular season whereas the Red Sox are built for the playoffs. So why the pessimism, you may ask? Simple – I don’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, I don’t at this moment see us winning the wild card.
How can you win the wild card when you keep trotting Derek Lowe out there! John, Tom, Larry, Theo, Terry, and Dave: Lowe sucks, Lowe sucks, Lowe sucks, Lowe sucks, Lowe sucks, LOWE SUCKS! So stop giving him the most innings! “He just needs work.” So we’ll give him the first start after the All-Star Break and line him up with the Yankees, right? Even though he has a 5.67 ERA through OVER HALF THE SEASON, all he needs is “work”. Well, give him his freaking work in the bullpen, in Pawtucket, in Seattle or just send him to freaking Pluto, okay? But we ain’t going to win with Lowe. He is dragging us down. He is a headcase, whether he says it or not. His attitude and struggles permeate the clubhouse. Disclaimer: I only speak of how I feel, hear, and see in the media/television. I have never been in the clubhouse nor been near the team. Nonetheless, Lowe is a cancer. The team may not realize it, but he is a cancer.
The Boston Celtics had 16 championships in 30 years. This means that basically every other year they won a championship. Heady stuff. Now look where they are – suckitude. So if it can happen to the Celtics, it can happen to the Yankees.
So why am I so close to conceding defeat to the Yankees — mind you, I don’t mean this year, but forevermore?